Insane Crash Course in Magical Creatures
by marginaliana
Summary: Full title: Greg Proops and the Really Kind of Insane Crash Course in Magical Creatures. Whose Line is it Anyway? crossover. Magic catches up with Greg.


Greg had somehow known, right from the beginning, that he wouldn't stay in the magical world. Not that he didn't like being a wizard – that was fucking awesome – but magic was who he was, not what he did. Even at eleven, Greg knew the difference. By seventeen he'd felt the call of comedy, the eyes of the audience every bit as seductive as the warm, sparkly feeling of touching the right wand for the first time. More so, really, since it was something he'd accomplished himself instead of just being born to it.

Still, he carried the wand with him, tucked into a special pocket of his suit so it wouldn't spoil the slim lines of the fabric. He'd used it rarely after he'd left school – that time when Jennifer's hiccupping streak had threatened to interrupt his fifteen minutes on stage, and one time, okay maybe two times, when he'd desperately needed a smoke and McShane had stolen his lighter _again_.

But by and large he didn't need magic, really, so he filed his knowledge of it away in the back of his mind next to everything he'd ever learned about the French Revolution and Hannibal crossing the whatever mountains with elephants.

Which is why he was all the more surprised when he found himself forcibly brought back into contact with the magical world. They were taping a set of shows in New York, though with Ryan, Colin, Wayne and himself, Greg wondered why the hell they didn't just fucking admit it was an American show by now. _Wouldn't do to bruise the Clive-ster's precious ego,_ he thought wryly. It happened in the middle of Let's Make a Date. Greg was asking Ryan "if you were a Popsicle, what flavor would you be?" when he saw it, looming in the shadows backstage and looking decidedly out of place.

"All right," said Greg, breaking character to sarcastically eyeball the interruption, "who let the fucking moose in here?"

After a moment the thing stepped calmly up from the wings onto the stage and Greg could see it wasn't actually a moose. It was too skinny for one thing, almost skeletally so, and what he'd thought were stubby horns were actually pointed, scaly ears.

"Is that a question for me, or for number three? Because I bet you're hung like a moose and I could let you in any time, ooh!" said Wayne, whose quirk Greg had already figured out was acting as some sort of freakish fangirl. Rolling his eyes, he reached out and grabbed Wayne by the chin, physically turning his head towards the animal, which was now chewing on the carpet and leaving a faint red stain where its saliva dripped.

"I'm serious," he said. "Somebody call animal control."

Both Ryan and Colin turned and looked behind themselves in the direction that Wayne's face was looking. Then Ryan turned back and gave Greg a searching look.

"Um, Greg?" he said cautiously. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

The thing lifted its head and spat fragments of carpet menacingly. Something shifted on its back and as its wings unfurled Greg had two unfortunately belated realizations.

Number one, that this was some sort of magical animal, and thus that he was the only one who could see the same thing. And number two, that unless some wizarding backup arrived soon, he was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble. He looked down, not wanting to see the looks on their faces.

"Greg?" said Ryan again. The whole audience had gone silent now and Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how to spin this. He wasn't sure anyone would buy a nervous breakdown, not coming from him.

Then somebody screamed, close by, and Greg looked up to see that everybody was looking at Colin now (_thank fucking Christ,_ he thought), only Colin was being hoisted up into the air, the back of his shirt caught in the creature's gleaming teeth. Greg supposed that to everyone else it must just look like Colin was floating in mid-air. Part of his brain thought this was good news - maybe he wouldn't have to fake something medical after all. The rest of his brain reminded him he rather liked Colin and didn't particularly want him to get eaten. Slowly and carefully he slid his wand out of his jacket.

"_Petrificus totalus!_" he cast, hoping to hell that would actually work. The creature looked at him with one baleful eye over Colin's flailing shoulder and gave a dismissive snort. _Guess it's more like a dragon than a horse. Shit. What do I use for that again? I never thought I'd need a B.A.T. in magical creatures!_ He pressed his fingers together, gripping the wand more tightly, while he tried to remember what he'd learned about a dragon's weak spots. _Eyes, I think it's the eyes._

He dredged up the incantation and cast again, aiming carefully. "_Conjunctivitis!_" The creature squealed (_Excellent shot, Proop-dog,_ Greg congratulated himself) and dropped Colin onto the stool below, which teetered and then fell forward under his weight.

"Ow!" said Colin, but Greg was too busy keeping his wand trained on the scary moose-dragon thing to pay attention. It glared at him with its remaining unscarred eye and took an aggressive step forward.

"You guys, move towards Clive really slowly, okay?" he said. Wayne slid off his stool and hunched downwards as he took a careful step. Ryan did the same, pulling Colin to his feet slowly. Colin's nose was bleeding from where he'd smashed it into the carpet and Greg felt guilt settle into his stomach. Then the creature's head turned to follow Colin, its nostrils flaring.

"Um, maybe a little faster for you, Colin," said Greg carefully. Colin took a slow but large step. As soon as Wayne had moved far enough out of the way, Greg cast the spell again. "_Conjunctivits!_" This time the creature's squeal turned into a snarl and it thrashed its head, both eyes now red and swollen. It took another few steps towards Greg, though obviously blind, and Greg took a quick step backwards. _Holy shit, nothing stops this thing! What the hell do I do now?_

For a long moment, the studio was silent but for Greg's panicked breaths and the creature's annoyed growls. Then a faint set of voices wafted up from backstage. Once Greg could make out what they were saying, his legs sagged minutely in relief.

"I think she went that way."

"You think? Gosh, Agent Scully, what clued you in? Was it the big ass trail of blood, perhaps?"

"Shut the fuck up. And don't call me Agent Scully. At least I wasn't dumb enough to lose a fucking _thestral_, okay, Williston?"

"Both of you shut up and walk faster," said a third voice. "She's got to be around here somewhere."

"Yo, in here!" called Greg. The creature stomped towards the sound of his voice and he took another quick step backwards. He didn't dare take his eyes off the thing, but in his peripheral vision he could see three men come jogging up onto the stage, each wearing a tailored black suit and dark sunglasses, wands in their hands. The one in the lead had bright red hair.

"Holy shit," said Ryan, "it's the men in black!"

"Ah, there you are, Buttercup," said the shortest man.

"Buttercup?! The invisible monster is named Buttercup?!"

Greg stifled a hysterical giggle at Wayne's outburst. The red-haired man rolled his eyes at them.

The creature took another step forward and Greg's mirth was replaced with terror once more.

"Um, a little help here?" he said. "You know, sometime before I get my ass trampled, that would be good."

The red-haired man gave instructions to the other two in a quiet voice, then came slowly up behind Greg and put a hand on his shoulder.

"On three we're going to take her down. You just roll to the left and get out of the way, okay?" Greg nodded his readiness.

The man stepped back and out of the corner of his eye Greg could see the three shift into a classic triangular casting position.

"Ready? One, two, three!" said the leader. A barrage of spells rang out, but Greg was too busy ducking and rolling to hear what they were. Someone in the audience screamed again, a couple of people, actually, and then Greg felt a tug on the back of his suit jacket. He lunged forward, pulling away, and heard the material tear. Suddenly he was free and he scrambled up and, following his instincts, away from the audience, most of whom were sitting frozen in their seats since they couldn't actually see the thing that was attacking him. The three men cast another set of spells and the creature's legs slowly buckled, its wings curling up around its body. Slowly its head came down and rested on the base of one of the cameras. The three men were breathing heavily.

"Nicely done, Jackson, Williston," said the red-haired man. "Textbook capture."

"Thank you, sir," chorused the other two.

"Williston, slap a portkey on her and get her back home. Jackson, send for the obliviators and then round up anyone we passed on our way in. Don't miss anyone, even if you think they didn't see her."

The two men nodded and the shorter of them pulled a business card out of his pocket. Reaching a hand out and settling it on the animal's head, he said, with another eye-roll, "go, go gadget portkey," and promptly vanished.

As Greg breathed a sigh of relief, the taller man slipped back into the wings of the stage. The leader turned to the audience.

"If I could have your attention for a moment, ladies and gentlemen. I'm sorry you had to witness all that."

"What the hell was that thing?!" Ryan broke in. The man in the suit answered smoothly, but Greg caught the slight swish and flick of his wand and felt some sort of containing spell go up.

"Just a bit of a project that got away from us. You know, top secret and all."

Wayne's eyes bugged out.

"My name is Agent Prewett with the CIA," he said, "and I'm just going to have to ask you all to stay here for a while until my men can debrief everybody, okay?"

After that was anticlimax. Everyone in the studio (and about thirty people from off the street who'd apparently been mown down by the thing) was rounded up and obliviated in batches, and fed some cover story about a freak electrical accident interrupting the show. Agent Prewett stood off to the side and supervised, and then debriefed Greg personally, complimenting him on his reaction time and use of the Conjunctivitis Curse. When the last of the audience members had been dealt with and sent on their way, Greg breathed a sigh of relief and went to wash his makeup off, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands. When he took off his jacket and discovered the gaping hole in the back panel, he had to sit for a long moment, head in his hands, until Colin came and knocked on the door, bringing him back to the moment.

That night Ryan dragged them out to his favorite bar and Greg downed three beers in quick succession.

"All right, there, Mister P?" asked Clive carefully, sliding into the booth where Greg was leaning his head against the wall and trying not to think very much.

"Fine, fine," said Greg. "Just, you know," he bullshitted, "that electrical thing kind of freaked me out. I was always afraid of being struck by lightning when I was a kid."

Clive patted him on the head patronizingly.

"Don't worry, I won't let the big bad lightning get you."

Greg laughed. "Fuck off. Like you weren't cowering under your desk this afternoon."

"Americans cower. The British just take well-advised evasive action," said Clive, and Greg felt himself relax at last. _As long as Clive's making his atrocious jokes, all's right with the world,_ he thought. _Still, perhaps it won't hurt to send some of my old school friends an owl, keep in touch. Magic sure seems to have a funny way of creeping up on you._

The end… for now.


End file.
